


Finding Love

by nekofreakz



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2017-11-25 08:06:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 15,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/636833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nekofreakz/pseuds/nekofreakz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To find love is like to seek for a treasure. You have to take courage to find it, added with a small dose of foolhardiness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I hurriedly wrote this super short prologue as I remembered the birthday of one of the most beloved and dreaded characters that J.K. Rowling had ever written. The dour potion professor is impossible to forget.
> 
> Happy Birthday, Professor Snape!

**Prologue**

' _Take … it … Take … it …'_

Severus said it with difficulty, blood choking his breath, and _again_ , fully aware that by giving those memories, he might just have condemned his loved one to an early grave.

' _Loved?'_ _Yes_ —although anyone might find that word to be more than incomprehensible to describe the relationship of one Harry James Potter with him; simply the farthest word to associate with both of them.

Hate was more fitting or maybe despise. For all the boy knew, Severus practically existed just to make him suffer. While it looked like a misguided affection, he was definitely not having a delusional moment as he lied there on the floor, dying, nor had he somehow lost his mind. As ridiculous to admit, he, Severus Snape, the most hated professor at Hogwarts was _really_ in love with Harry James Potter.

Not only for this very last second, but had already been for years. Though, he had guarded it so well that not even the old headmaster had realized about it. Imagine, how unscrupulous of him to fell for both mother and son—how inexcusable. It was logical to keep it hidden when it would only do more harm than good.

Still, dying had that tendency to make people more honest – one final wish, they said.

And so a whisper passed his lips, betrayed his perseverance, 'Look … at … me …'

No hesitation as Potter lifted his eyes to meet his own. As he saw those green eyes, he knew beyond doubt that, even though he regretted many things in his life, he didn't regret to die for Harry Potter.

**End of Prologue**


	2. Chapter 1 - Rewritten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rewritten Chapter 1

It felt like being submerged in a pool in the hot summer day where all sound was muted and everything behind the eyelids was bright, where the calm and peace settled over and there was no pressing need to surface.

 How easy it was to forget who he was, ceasing to exist as if he was the very air itself, to merge with the thousand shards of light.

 Yet, harder than steel the last anchor was and so willingly he was bound by it—his beloved’s voice was sweeter than honey, clearer than the chime of bell, more precious than a dragon’s treasure.

 So he writhed in his dream, restless, seed of greed, wishing and yearning.

 


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

 

“Back again, Mr. Evans?” said the matron with a motherly smile.

 

Harry couldn’t help but smiled back at her. So much different from the other stern matron he knew.

 

“Is he…?” he bit his lip, half-hoping, half-anxious.

 

The matron looked at him with sympathy. “No, I’m sorry. Mr. Prince is still in the same condition.”

 

 “I see… Thank you,” he said, deflated, giving a polite nod to her before opening the door to the room number 221.

 

It wasn’t bright inside. Artificially light was kept to a bare minimum for energy conserving and even though the hospital window shade was open, outside the sky was grey, hindering the sunlight to reach the room. But temperature was warm enough to be comfortable for the room’s sole occupant.

 

The only sound was the regular, steady blip of the heart monitor, reassuring him that the room’s long-time patient was still alive.

 

For the longest time, he just stood there as if in a trance, hypnotized by the rhythmic movement of the patient's chest.

 

Then as always, his lips would curve into a wry smile.

 

It’s a shame, really.

 

That often, he would forget the initial reason why he was here—for whose sake.

 

With only three persons in the world to know this place, a Muggle hospital, which was registered under aliases, this small room had become a sanctuary, not only for the man who was lying unconscious in the bed, but also for himself. 

 

Shaking his head, bemused by the thought, he said softly, “Hullo, Professor.”

 

Unlike the first time he had visited the man, the lack of response no longer cowed him into silence. As he spoke, his voice gained strength.

 

“The doctors said, _‘coma patients recover faster when they hear a familiar voice’._ Although, I seriously doubt _my_ familiar voice is the one you want to hear.” Shoving his hand into his pants, he shrugged. “As you’re not quite here to say no…” he trailed.

 

As he tried to think what kind of small talk they would have today, his eyes roving absentmindedly, taking count of the long dark masses of lanky hair reaching down almost to the man’s waist, the gaunt, corpse-like body, ravaged by an unforgiving time. All of it reminded him the probability that he might not see the man awake again in this lifetime.

 

 Swallowing hard, assaulted by a sudden guilt, he turned his head to look through the window as his brain thankfully supplied him with a sufficient rambling.

 

“Weather presenter forecast it’s going to snow soon. I’m not sure London is going to see any this year. Still, I guess Hogwarts will be snowed under as usual. ”

 

Sneaking a look at Snape’s pale, striking face which still held a frown even in his rest, Harry let out a sigh. Not even a twitch in sight, at this pace, he probably would bore the man to death. It’s time to change the topic.

 

He uttered sagely, “I learned something new today. You may scoff at it, as it is not a real spell, but more a good luck charm. But honestly, Professor, you have the worst luck of anyone I know.” He paused briefly, half expecting Snape to wake up and hex him for the insult, however nothing happened, so he continued, “You’re going to need as much as you can get to pull this off.”

 

“Here goes nothing,” he muttered.

 

Harry stepped closer to the man and took hold of Snape’s hand, then gently he pried open the man’s bony fingers. Taking out his wand, he created a sphere of light.

 

Settling the sphere on the man’s open palm, he chanted softly, wholeheartedly.

 

“May the blessing of the light be upon you.

May the hand of friend always be near you.

May the burden rest lightly upon you.

And may you always find your way even in the darkest night.”

 

He closed the man’s palm as he finished the blessings of the old, forgotten times, and watched the orb of light scattered into hundreds of tiny light, before disappeared into nothingness.

 

It was strange. Even though the light had been gone, the force behind the words still reverberated in his chest, making it warm as if a fire was kindled inside, which was impossible since the spell was only a modified lumos. And the words were merely the usual blessings one bestowed on their youngling, or so he had been told.

 

As he was younger than Snape, it might not mean anything except as goodwill. But, he couldn’t chase away the disconcerted feeling that something had been altered by the simple blessing. 

 

He had long learned not to dismiss his intuition, but whether it was good or bad, for the life of him, he had no idea.

 

However, whatever it was, a quick look confirmed that Snape was still not waking up.

 

Sadly, the blessing was just blessing, nothing more.

 

Maybe, he was just getting too paranoid these days.

 

Slipping his wand into the pocket of his jacket, he pulled his hand away then walked to the door.

 

With a final glance at the unmoving figure on the bed, he said, “Goodbye Professor, until next time.”

 

**End of Chapter 2**


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

 

It had been a trying day at the Auror’s Office.

 

By the time he reached home, he was so tired that he crawled into his bed fully clothed, barely remembering to take off his shoes and glasses.

 

He felt like he was only sleeping for five minutes before he was being rudely awakened by a shrill ringing sound from downstairs.

 

Frowning, he reached for his glasses and looked at the clock.

 

It was far too early. Still, it wasn’t that strange being woken up at odd hours. The downside of being an Auror was that there was no proper resting time.

 

Every day, there was a chance for an impromptu raid to take place; unwanted but unavoidable.

 

He could remember how he spent weeks lacking of precious sleep and the only thing that could keep him standing upright was only by consuming so much caffeine he feared that one day it would send him into the nearest hospital.

 

As he squinted, he realized the ringing he heard wasn’t from his doorbell.

 

It was from his telephone.

 

It meant that it’s _definitely_ had nothing to do with his job.

 

Instantly wide awake, he jumped out of the bed in record time, grabbed his shoes then ran down the stairs at a neck-breaking speed. He skidded to a stop in front of a vintage, dial-type telephone. Picking up the phone receiver, he quickly put it to his ear while his other hand struggling to put on his shoes, in case he had to move out quickly.

 

“Evans residence,” he answered before erupting into a fit of coughing, the side effect of running too damn fast. “No, no, I’m fine.” He rubbed his chest. “I hope you aren’t calling to tell me bad news…?” His eyes went round as he listened to the explanation. “Oh… Oh! Alright…” He shook his head. “No! I’ll be there, just give me a minute.” Apparently, this greatly alarmed the person on the other side of the phone. “Yes, I’ll take my time. Don’t worry… I… I’ll take a taxi. I promise I won’t cause any accident,” He assured as he made a face, pulling on his messy hair, blaming his stupid mouth for firing answers before his faulty sleepy brain could provide. “Can you please tell him to at least wait for me?” He blushed. “Er, I know. It’s usually not possible to walk after... _you know what._ It’s just… well, doc, please do anything to make him stay.” He listened then cringed as he was being reprimanded. “Yes, sorry…I understand. I’m going now. Thank you for calling.”

 

**End of Chapter 3**


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

 

He inhaled sharply. His hand closed into a tight ball, making his nails biting into his flesh. His eyes, which were opened too quickly, were smarting.  Rapidly blinking his watery eyes, the white ceiling came into view.

 

For a second, he was disoriented.

 

Struggling to make sense of his situation, his brain churned the information his multitude of senses provided.

 

Yes, he was alone and it was quite dark.

 

And he was lying in a bed.

 

He paused, the last one didn’t quite add up.

 

_Wasn’t he supposed to be dying in the Shrieking Shack?_

 

Then the next question threw him into panic.

 

_Where is Harry Potter?_

 

Erratically, Severus yanked the things which were attached on his fingers and chest and tried to get up to no avail. The effort to move his legs left him shaking and panting like a newborn foal.

 

Only then he realized with dismay that he didn’t even have his wand. Even if he could get out of the bed, he was as vulnerable as those Muggles. There was no doubt he would be a burden rather than a helpful asset to anyone.

 

Making a guttural sound at the back of his throat, his trembling fist pounded the bed in frustration.

 

Suddenly the door was opened and the lamp was turned on. Bright light pierced his eyelids making him wince. He tensed as the man in white coat intruded his personal space, followed by a woman who was wearing similar attire.

 

He eyed these uninvited newcomers warily. His hand involuntary twitched, itching to whip out his missing wand at them.

 

“We're glad you've woken up. How do you feel, Mr. Prince?” the man asked him.

 

At hearing that he realized straight away, the man was probably some sort of a healer and this place was probably a hospital.

 

Though, he decided to keep his silence, noting that the man had referred to him by his mother’s maiden surname. It would seem that he was put in here under a false name. He could only guess the reason why.

 

After assuring him that he was in good hands, the man gave him brief explanation about his comatose condition and circumstances which had brought him here; surprisingly a Muggle hospital instead of a magical one.

 

Catching the last information he had been given, he felt his heart sink into his stomach.

 

“How long…?” he rasped, asking the Muggle doctor to repeat it, disbelief coloring his voice.

 

 “It’s almost two year since you’ve been admitted to this hospital.”

 

Despair swallowed him whole.

 

It was too late.

 

Harry Potter was dead.

 

He ceased to hear any sound until one name penetrated his chaotic mind.

 

 “Mr. Evans will be pleased to know you’re awake,” said the doctor.

 

His heart stopped beating.

 

_Evans?_

 

**End of Chapter 4**


	6. Chapter 5

A/N: One extra Chapter this week. Enjoy.

**Chapter 5**

 

Harry shifted on his feet nervously, couldn’t bring himself to open the door which would lead him to the hospital room number 221.

 

He had been very eager to get to here as soon as possible. But _once_ he was really here, apprehension had doused his excitement more effectively than the cold water could ever douse the burning fire.

 

A comatose Snape he could handle. He was familiar with that version of Snape, on account of how many times he had visited the unconscious man. He could even say he was growing fond of that version.

 

Unfortunately, a wholly-conscious Snape was entirely different matter. Every encounter with the Potion Master wasn’t something he would fondly remember. In fact, the man was a nasty piece of work and had always been downright unpleasant, particularly to him.

 

Still, he couldn’t just spend all his day here, staring at the door like an idiot, or worse like a coward.

 

He had to remind himself that he wasn’t a student, wet behind the ears anymore, who had dreaded his first detention. He had become his own man. While he admitted that he was imperfect and still stumbling through life, he shouldn’t have been intimidated merely by very thought of facing the Potion Professor.

 

Gathering his courage, he raised his hand and knocked at the door.

 

 “Come in,” the room’s occupant replied with a raspy, velvet baritone.

 

Taking a deep, calming breath, he opened the door.

 

**End of Chapter 5**


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

 

Severus hold himself very still, taking only shallow, necessary breath, as if even the slightest movement would ruin this anticipated reunion.

 

His stomach churned with the intensity of a thousand pixie’s wings, as the door slowly opened, revealing a face he knew by heart, which had haunted his dreams and his every waking moment.

 

He sat there spellbound, his eyes greedily drinking in the sight.

 

It was true.

 

Harry Potter was alive.

 

In faded jeans and white T-shirt and one arm holding a brown jacket, Potter, older and taller than he had remembered, stepped into the room.

 

 _He is looking well,_ he noticed then.

 

Harry Potter didn’t have a look of a hunted animal anymore, unlike when he had secretly seen the boy at the Forest of Dean. The desperate look on the boy’s face was gone, replaced by the calm, assured look of self-possession which was born of peaceful time no doubt.

 

With that thought, his mood suddenly turned pensive, almost sad. 

 

**End of Chapter 6**

 


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

 

It was hard to describe what he felt when his eyes fell on the figure on the bed.

 

Though if he was pressed to put a specific name to the myriad of emotions which flooded over him right now, he could say it was something akin to disappointment.

 

Sure, he knew from his regular visitation, he shouldn’t expect the man to be in a prime condition, but somehow, he expected Snape to look more like himself—more arrogant… more unbending.

 

And it felt like a betrayal to find the man like this.

 

Where was the perpetual sneer Snape wore so often that he believed to be permanently carved into the man’s face?

 

Where was the arrogance which told anyone that the Potion Professor existed in the higher plane than a mere mortal like students?

_This_ wasn’t the man he remembered.

 

He was so caught up in his turmoil that he very nearly missed the question which was uttered softly by Snape.

 

“Is it… over?” It was spoken by a rough, long unused voice.

 

He met the man’s tired gaze and felt the immediate need to assure him. “Yes. The war is over, Professor. Voldemort is gone.”

 

Their conversation faded into silence as they each fell into their own thoughts.

 

It was after some time had passed that Snape opened his mouth again to ask.

 

“How…” the man rasped. “How did I survive?”

 

A hot shame prickled him like a splinter would to a tender skin when he heard the question. He had forgotten all about Snape until Fawkes appeared out of nowhere and fetched him from the Gryffindor Tower the night they won the battle.

 

It was unfair how some sacrifices were dearly remembered, while others were _not_.

 

Swallowing down the massive lump of guilt in his throat, he answered, “Fawkes, sir. The phoenix healed you then led me to you.”

 

At hearing that, he saw the man’s hand twitched for a second before it curled into a fist on top of the bed’s cover, then in a defeated tone, Snape said quietly, “I see…”

 

Out of respect, he let the silence stretch out until it was uncomfortable, but Snape didn’t say anything further, only left him staring rather candidly at the Potion Master.

 

That was it? No more question, not even an argument?

 

Was this amenable, agreeable person really that nastiest Professor in the whole Hogwarts?

 

An unnamable feeling of disquiet along with disbelief swept through him.

 

Though, he didn’t know what to do to break this silence as they never had any real, proper conversation before. In fact, as far as he could recall, trading insults were ever their favorite topics. And now, not even one insult had been uttered by the man.

 

So how should he respond to that? Should he leave the man in peace then?

 

His brain froze at the question, refusing to think harder before it got its daily intake of caffeine. Besides, it was way too bloody early for any hostile confrontation. And if he was right, Snape wasn’t exactly in the condition for a verbal sparring either. After all, the man had just woken up from a coma.

 

Deciding to make his escape for now, he cleared his throat, breaking the silence, asking if it was alright to come back later.

 

But Snape never replied to his question.

 

**End of Chapter 7**

 


	9. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Happy Halloween Y’all

**Chapter 8**

 

It wasn’t he begrudged how it had turned out as nothing relieved him more than seeing Harry Potter alive and well.

 

Rather, whatever he felt about it was overpowered by stronger emotion—by self-hatred.

 

All these years, for the sake of love he had done what must be done. But along the way, blinded by anger and bitterness, he had lost sight of himself. He was too late to realize of what he had become, what he had been reduced into; a mere pawn in the game of power.

 

Look, what good it ever brought him, only pain and sorrow.

 

Yet, he was knowingly going to stand back and let the one he love _die_ , for the greater good.

 

Worse still, what made him hated himself more, was that if he was given a choice, he would choose to do the same thing, all over again, because Albus Dumbledore had been right, it was what Harry Potter would wish for, and try as he might, Potter was the only person in this world he couldn’t betray.

 

**End of Chapter 8**

 

 


	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

 

Less than eighteen hours had passed since he last met Snape. Already, the Potion Master looked worse for wear.

 

Perhaps, it was a matter of preconception; a bias should he say, because of the knowledge he gleaned from the hospital staffs that every single time the food tray was sent back untouched.

 

But whatever he thought about it, he couldn’t deny the fact that the Potion Master looked so pale that the man seemed to glow luminously, horrifically inhuman, making him feel as if he was looking at wilting plant, one which should be specifically kept in the dark place and not under the light, with its vines shriveled beyond saving.

 

So now he could say with absolute conviction that there was a decision to make and it was (unfortunately) _his_.

 

All because the Potion Master had no one, so to speak—no one left in this world to care for him.

 

There were two choices; he could turn back and left Snape to fend for himself, or he could, instead, willingly assume full responsibility for the man’s well-being.

 

The tricky thing was, he had a feeling that he had already made his choice the moment he had followed Fawkes and found the man, only he still couldn’t reassure himself whether he was making the right choice or not.

 

Because, firstly, and foremostly, Severus Snape was an enigma.

 

Being the man’s student for six years meant nothing at all; he understood only very little of him.

 

Indeed, no one was more surprised than him when the truth came out.

 

He hadn’t even known that Snape had been his mother’s childhood friend, or the fact that the man had always been in love with her _forever_ , nor had he realized the man been his secret protector all these years.

 

The only thing he could say confidently about the man was that Snape was a _very_ convincing liar and a huge pain in the arse (and the conclusion that he was probably the stupidest person alive to put his trust in him).

 

Still _,_ he had to be made of stone if he didn’t feel anything toward one man whose memories he had seen.

 

Had he not witnessed by his own eyes, the man’s mistake and guilt, and more than that, the evident act of redemption?

 

Wasn’t it everyone’s rights to get a second chance, especially a person who had sacrificed everything?

 

And if he could find forgiveness inside him for Voldemort, why wouldn’t he, for Snape?

 

With that last thought, the conflict inside him finally resolved.

 

**End of Chapter 9**

 


	11. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

 

“Good evening, Professor,” Harry said brightly.

 

Hearing but not answering, Snape sat stiffly, staring out the window, even though the moonless sky made it too dark to be able to see anything. Just by a quick glance, it was obvious what the Potion Master would want from him. Snape probably hoped that if he ignored him long enough, he would get a clue and take his leave.

 

Only too bad for Snape, he was a man on a mission and he wouldn’t leave the man alone just yet until he managed to accomplish it.

 

So instead, he got closer to Snape and spoke loudly, practically shoutedright into Snape’s left ear, like one would speak to an elderly aunt. “PROFESSOR SNAPE…!” he said. “HOW DO YOU DO, SIR?”

 

Not expecting him to act so bold, the Potion Master jerked back as if being shot at.

 

Rather amused by the man’s reaction, he coughed into his hand to straighten his face.

 

As predicted, the Potion Master’s head swiveled sharply to glare at him.

 

“I HOPE YOU’RE WELL, SIR!” he went on, just as loud.

 

Now that Snape was facing him, the man winced, not only from hearing his loud voice but also because Snape was the direct recipient of his flying spits. The Potion Master tried to evade it as much as he could, though it seemed his effort was in vain. _“For heaven’s sake, Potter!”_ He heard the Potion Master muttered with a scowl.

 

Now, if he was a person who had less courage, or if he was wise enough not to poke the sleeping snake, he'd probably run along like a good little boy, never to be heard again. But then again, he had always been neither.

 

Besides, to tell the truth, he’s having too much fun to stop right now.

 

The look on Snape’s face was priceless, really.

 

Standing straight, his face betrayed nothing, he inquired politely, although louder than before, “SIR…?”

 

Sneering, Snape furiously wiped the spits from his face with the sleeve of his hospital gown, and then in a scathing tone said, “POTTER! Having a felon like Black as your _dear_ godfather, _did not_ excuse you from acting like an uncivilized idiot!”

 

Harry tensed, all signs of amusement suddenly fled without a trace, superseded by a hot, prickly anger which swept through his body.

 

There was a nasty silence as they glared at each other like two pugilists, each waiting for the other to lead off.

 

Trust Snape to ruin his attempt to make peace by knowingly dragging Sirius into this matter, as there was no way the other man didn’t realise that any topic about Sirius was forbidden, or the fact he didn’t take insult well when it came to people he considered as family.

 

He gave Snape the dirtiest look he could muster, before closing his eyes and tried to control his anger.

 

Taking a deep breath, he counted to ten to calm himself, then reminded himself again that he wasn’t here to pick a petty fight with Snape; in fact he was here to weed out the hatred and discord, to end the long-time _absurd_ feud which should have been resolved _decades_ ago.

 

Once he was sure he wouldn’t respond in any way which would add more fuel to the flame, he opened his eyes and said, “You know what I think…?” He paused and met the man’s questioning glance. “ _I_ think being civilized is overrated.” Seeing disbelief on Snape’s face, he gave the Potion Master an exasperated, all-knowing look, the same look he often saw on Hermione’s face, as if she knew something he didn't, “Seriously, it's kind of boring—don’t you think?”

 

At first there was no reaction to this ridiculous comment, but then he heard something like a small snort escaped from Snape’s nostrils, and the man’s lips twitched, as though he couldn’t help it. The corners of Snape’s mouth curl up, just a little, for one infinitesimal fraction, before a second later being forcefully pulled down, firmly expressing displeasure.

 

Harry felt his eyebrow rose slightly at the sight of an almost-smile.

 

It was the closest thing to a smile he’d ever seen on Snape’s face—a _real_ smile, not a smirk, and definitely not a malicious, mocking one.

 

Perplexed and a bit amazed that today he saw the proof underneath all the bitterness and hardness there was a beating, ordinary human heart, Harry allowed a grudging smile worked its way onto his face—of which when he saw the look of utter confusion in Snape’s eyes, quickly turned into a genuine, somewhat amused smile within seconds.

 

XxX

 

Severus didn’t know what to do when he saw that smile on Potter’s face.

 

A part of him was desperate to do something, anything as feelings he had denied for so long rising in his chest, rejoicing in even the tiniest bit of affection he’d ever received from the boy. But another part of him with the pride of a red-blooded male was, instead, terribly offended and refused to be anyone's charity case, even if it was Potter’s.

 

Because he knew without a doubt, it was pity he saw in Harry Potter’s eyes since the moment the boy had stepped into the room.

 

Irritated mostly with himself for hoping only Merlin knew what, his words came out cold and clipped, “Why are _you_ here, Potter?”

 

Sensing the sudden change in his mood, Potter’s smile faded.

 

 “Look,” Potter replied cautiously, “I assure you I'm not here to cause you any harm.”

 

The blow to his ego was severe, the instant he heard Potter insinuated that he was too weak and helpless to defend himself.

 

Smarting with humiliation and fury, Severus sneered, “ _Potter_ , if you think—”

 

“I have a good reason to be here,” Potter said quickly, and then at his raised eyebrow, insisted, “I’m not lying, I swear.” The boy rummaged through his pocket and produced a wooden box, holding it out to him, “See? I brought you something that belongs to you, well… _two_ things—er, only in one box, get it?”

 

Severus narrowed his eyes and gave him a look which clearly said _, ‘What do you take me for, an idiot?’_

 

“Whatever,” Potter said, shaking his head, and pushed the box into his hand when he did nothing but kept staring suspiciously at it, “Here …”

 

When he didn’t move to open it, Potter frowned. “I said, _I won’t cause you any harm_. Though Professor, if you think—,” the boy said impatiently, his hand reaching out to take the box.

 

Severus slapped the offending hand away, livid at the boy’s prodding, moreover by the implication that he wasn’t only weak and helpless, but also a coward.

 

Ignoring the boy’s glare, he carefully pried it open, half-expecting it to explode in his face.

 

However, just as Potter had promised to him, it wasn’t some kind of a prank or something dangerous. If anything, it contained things he had lost. One of it was, of course, deliberately given to the boy in his dying moment; a silvery substance inside a glass vial which was his own extracted memories.

 

While the other one made him looked up furiously at Potter, as it was his own wand which he was led to believe to be lost or broken when he fell unconscious.

 

Alarmed, Potter quickly held up a hand in a pacifying gesture before he could launch any accusation.  “Listen, I didn’t steal it… OK?” the boy explained desperately, “I had your wand for safekeeping _only_. I never meant to take it. I just think that it’s not a good idea to leave it lying around a Muggle hospital.”

 

When he kept scowling at him, Potter rolled his eyes then muttered aggressively in disbelief to no one, “ _Funny,_ you’d think he’d _like_ to have those back.”

 

Ignoring the last part he’d just heard, Severus stared at the boy for a moment, not inclined to speak, before looking down again to his wand. Carefully, he picked it up and felt the answering, almost intimate warmth in his fingers. He sensed the boy was insolently watching him for his reaction but he was too busy inspecting his wand to admonish him for his rudeness.

 

After a quick assessment, he was satisfied that it hadn’t suffered any lasting damage. It was still in the same condition, exactly as he had lost it, and as perfect as a wand could ever be, after going through two wars.

 

Though after a while, the intense staring was starting to make him feel disconcerted, so he sneaked a look at the boy.

 

Shifting his weight from foot to foot, Potter was glancing at him with squinted eyes like he was trying to read his mood, his impertinent manner gone replaced by strained, weary face, and he acted like the accused waiting for the verdict, even though he wasn’t guilty of anything—not any more than being himself.

 

Because despite of being cheeky at times, far too stubborn and reckless for his own good, Potter was also warm and kind-hearted and so very selfless, and Severus had never, _never_ regretted the day he fell in love with him.

 

He knew it was unfair of him to slip back into the old, vile mask of indifference and disdain.

 

Yet, he had worn it for so long, he didn’t know how to conduct himself without it.

 

And if he was honest with himself, he was afraid Potter would see what kind of a man he was beneath the mask. That once Potter saw his true-self, that he was nothing, but a worthless excuse for a human being, as dull as the place he came from, the place he could never escape, that he was only a dirty, greedy slum dweller from Spinner’s End, Potter would find him lacking, just like Lily did.

 

Struggling with his own conflicting emotions, he dragged out the words forcibly from his throat.

 

“Potter…”

 

“Yes, Professor?”

 

What he saw made his throat locked up, on how Potter staring at him with the resigned acceptance on his face for the harsh scolding he’s so sure he’d receive.

 

Never had Severus loathes himself more than in that moment; hating himself for putting that look on Harry Potter.

 

Potter, however, seemed to think that he was too incensed to speak coherently, instead of feeling guilty, and thought he ought to break the silence, so the boy said with a heavy sigh, “I’m sor—”

 

“Thank you,” Severus said firmly in a quiet voice, cutting off Potter’s words. He didn’t deserve an apology from the boy; what he deserved was to be flogged for causing pain to the one he love.

 

Potter blinked rapidly at him, his green eyes widening slightly with each blink, as though he couldn’t really believe what he’d just heard.

 

Feeling as if he had just been stripped bare, Severus could feel his face flushed with embarrassment, regretting a bit that in the heat of the moment he had acted uncharacteristically, even though he knew that it was the right thing to do.

 

“Oh — er —” Potter replied after some time, the boy’s face flushed in sympathy. “Er —you’re welcome, sir.”

 

And then, the next thing Severus knew, Potter had inclined his head so their eyes met. Cheeks still reddened by the blush, he saw a shy, tentative smile on the boy’s lips, more brilliant than the first, so perfectly beautiful it set his pulse aflutter.

 

**End of Chapter 10**


	12. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

 

Severus didn’t sleep well last night, and he doubted the night from then on, would be any different.

 

And he fully knew the reason why.

 

Like a small boat left adrift in a sea of uncertainty, a kite whose string was cut off, he had to face the fact that he had _nothing_ ; nothing in his life, nothing worth living for—Lily was dead and Potter… Harry Potter didn’t feel anything for him except pity.

 

To seek another reason, attempting to justify his survival, _was_ futile because it had been far too late for him to change, to move on.

 

Love and guilt were the two things which had shaped him, denying that was the same as denying who he was. He wasn’t sure he even wanted to try, and that meant he was knee-deep in misery, presumably for the rest of his sorry life.

 

Though, when the door suddenly opened and then closed by itself, his finely honed senses alerted him, made him pull his wand from underneath his pillow, ready to withdraw it at any moment.

 

He wasn’t that much of a fool to believe that the unexplainable swinging was caused by the loose hinges or wind.  Without a doubt someone with magical abilities or items had just entered the room, someone of indeterminable intent who was for some unknown reason, felt the need to hide his or her presence.

 

Then, before he could utter menacing question of any kind, a head suddenly came into view, followed by the rest of the body.

 

“Potter?” He uttered the intruder’s name, his mouth fell open slightly. Mentally, shaking off the shock at seeing Potter in his room when he’d initially thought he’d never see the boy again, his words came out sharper than he intended, “ _What_ in Merlin’s name are you doing here?”

 

 “Good morning to you, too, Professor,” said Potter with a grin, seemed to be impervious to the lack of welcome he received, and in one smooth move, planted himself firmly on the seat right beside the bed.

 

“What do you think you’re doing, Potter?” Severus demanded harshly, alarmed at Potter’s action which could only mean that the boy would be staying for a while.

 

 “Well, I guess, sitting down?” Potter replied with a shrug.

 

Severus sneered in response.  

 

This was why he had never showed his real feelings. Just _one_ time he behaved like a decent person, now the impertinent boy thought he had gone soft.

 

Sadly, Potter was very much mistaken about it, because there was a world of difference between willing to die for someone, and taking cheek from anyone; even if that person was the person he loved.

 

“Who have said about you staying, Potter?” he said in a low, dangerous voice.

 

“No one,” replied Potter. “But naturally…”

 

“Naturally _what?_ ” he cut off.

 

“Well, naturally,” Potter said, speaking as though he had not uttered, “It would have been better manners, to at least, let me catch my breath for a minute or two, seeing I’m bringing something for you like a loyal delivery owl, before going on my merry way again.”

 

Severus’s lips thinned, the boy’s careless answer dissatisfied him. Potter didn’t look tired at all, much less out of breath like the boy had just claimed. “Potter, since when have you been stealing from me?” he demanded. “Tell me, how many have fallen into your hands?”

 

“Stealing _from_ —?” said Potter, goggling at him. “No, no, no, you're mistaken, Professor. I wouldn’t dare to steal anything from you _._ ”

 

Severus threw the boy one look of disdain as they both knew it was a lie.

 

Potter rolled his eyes at him, before taking out a transparent box from the bag he had brought with him, and set it gently on the overbed table.

 

Severus narrowed his eyes. “What—?”

 

“It’s obvious, isn’t it? It’s your breakfast.”

 

“My _what?_ ”

 

“Well, you know, it’s something you eat when you start your day—”

 

Through gritted teeth, he said, “Potter, I know what breakfast is! Never have I asked for—”

 

“Yeah, you didn’t,” Potter said at once. “If you really want to know, it’s Kreacher who volunteered to make your meals. I just came to deliver it.” Seeing his frown, the boy quickly added, “Don’t worry, Kreacher didn’t poison it. I checked it myself. And, strangely, he’s rather fond of you. So I’d guarantee it tastes OK too.”

 

While he had to admit that the notion of Black’s unstable house-elf taken a liking to him was disturbing, he was more concerned of Potter’s motive for doing something nice like delivering his breakfast, whether it was out of pity or not.

 

So Severus responded in the only way he knew. “ _You_ , Potter?”he said, with ridicule dripping from his voice. “Check it yourself? And _that_ supposed to reassure me?”

 

“It is surprising, isn’t it? Considering, I’ve had the pleasure having you as my Potion’s teacher,” Potter countered impertinently, then with a shrug, added, “Still, I did pass the Poisons and Antidotes studies.”

 

Severus glowered at Potter but said nothing.

 

It was undeniable that before he had gotten past the ‘James Potter’ twin look, he had strived to make Potter’s life difficult; countless times he had tried his best to get the boy expelled. Although, after he knew him better, it was only a half-hearted attempt out of habit to punish the boy for his cheeky mouth.

 

Regret, he knew, wasn’t going to change a thing, so instead of wallowing in it, he shoved it back into the deepest recesses of his mind.

 

Ignoring the boy’s sarcasm, he asked, “Potter, are you trying to tell me you’re an Auror?”

 

“That is correct, Professor,” replied Potter haughtily. “I _am_ an Auror.”

 

When he looked downright skeptical, Potter said, exasperated, “So what? Why is it really hard to believe? Look, I did vanquish Voldemort, you know?”

 

“Indeed, by luck,” he snapped.

 

“No, it’s not! I’ve got help mostly, but…” Potter fumed. “Why do I have to explain myself to you?”

 

Severus smirked.

 

Potter muttered something that sounded like “Git” under his breath.

 

Then suddenly, it occurred to him that something didn’t exactly add up.

 

“You’ve been an Auror for how long exactly, Potter?”

 

“Well, I—why do you want to know?”

 

“It took three years to finish the studies, except if you’re lying to me… or these muggles did. It’s not possible to—”

 

“Er, it’s not a lie, not really,” Potter said sheepishly. “The Muggles couldn’t have known because we withheld the information about when you fell into coma or the reason why we moved you into this hospital. As for how long… well, it’s 2002 now. You’ve been unconscious for more than four years, Professor.”

 

Severus suddenly felt nauseated, trying to wrap his mind around the fact he had lost four years of his life. It was somewhat surreal, unnerving. After all for him, it felt like the battle had just ended yesterday.

 

Only after he was sure he wasn’t going to sound remotely hysterical, he finally opened his mouth to ask, “And who is this _‘we’_ you’re talking about, Potter?”

 

“Er, that’s the Minister and the Head of the Law Enforcement… I mean Kingsley and Dawlish.”

 

“Kingsley is the Minister now?” he inquired with a frown.

 

“Yeah, he got the post after the war.”

 

Silence fell over them as Severus mulled over what he had just heard. He had missed out a lot of important information while he was unconscious. If he asked for it, he had a feeling, unlike Albus Dumbledore, Potter would offer him a truthful answer.

 

But the question was: did he actually want to know? Now that the war had been won and he had no role anymore?

 

Severus found the answer to that was a firm, resounding ‘yes’ to the question, because it was not power or money which ruled the world, but information. And it was beyond ridiculous not to think about tomorrow, just because he was feeling miserable now.

 

“Tell me everything,” he plainly demanded. “Start from the beginning, Potter, and leave nothing out.”

 

“From the beginning?” said Potter, stunned. “But, er—it’s a long story...”

 

“I’ve time,” he snapped.

 

“Oh, er…” Looking at the door nervously, Potter admitted, “Actually, I’m not supposed to be here… It’s not visiting hours yet.”

 

The mystery was solved; why Potter needed to wear an Invisibility Cloak inside a Muggle hospital.

 

“Potter,” he said, arching an eyebrow. “Are you saying you’re afraid of a mere Muggle?”

 

“That is not the problem,” Potter said, glaring at him. “It’s just… It’s inconvenient to be permanently banned from your room. I’d hate to Obliviate the hospital’s staffs every time I got caught visiting you. They’re really nice people. They don’t deserve that kind of brain damage.”

 

Severus felt his heart gave a startled jolt at hearing that.

 

What was that supposed to mean? Was Potter planning to come back here after today?

 

“And, I suppose what you’re doing right now is different, Potter?” he said sarcastically, even though inside, his heart and mind were in the state of disarray. “Sneaking around like a thief.”

 

“Thief!” Potter snorted loudly. “Why is it always come back to that? You sure know how to hold a grudge, Professor.” The boy sighed. “Sheesh, I admit it. I broke into your store room, but only once. I haven’t stolen anything since then.”

 

When he didn’t say anything, instead staring pointedly at him, Potter said, “All right, fine… I’m sorry, OK? I promise I won’t steal anything from you again.”

 

“Potter, I don’t need your ‘sorry’,” he replied coldly. “What I need from you is the story.”

 

Potter choked, his hand flew to his mouth, something suspiciously like a strangled laugh escaped his lips, but ultimately it burst into a full laughter.

 

Severus stared, entranced. Tears of mirth was making the boy’s green eyes glimmered like precious gems. Snapping himself out of it, he forced himself to glare at Potter as if he thought that the boy had lost his mind.

 

A few moments later, the boy sobered a bit.

 

 “Er, it rhymes, _‘sorry, story’_?” said Potter, still chuckling, wiping his tears away, and then looked utterly bemused when the boy saw that he didn’t feel the share the feelings, “Yep, got it. Not funny.”

 

“I’m glad you find it amusing, Potter,” he said coolly. “Now speak.”

 

Rubbing his jaw, Potter hemmed and hawed for a while, seeming to have a hard time deciding where to start or the boy was just stalling his time so he wouldn’t have to tell it.

 

“Potter…” he said dangerously, letting the threat in his voice to be taken as an incentive.

 

 “Yeah, yeah… I’ll speak,” Potter said, taking out his own wand to lock the door with a spell then thoughtfully added Muffliato Charm a second later. “Story, huh?” Clearing his throat, in a storyteller-like voice, Potter said solemnly, “So, all stories started out with this story; _there were once three brothers who were travelling along a lonely, winding road at—_ ”

 

“Potter, stop joking!” he interrupted the boy with disgruntled expression.

 

 “I’m not! Do you want to hear it or not? _Professor?_ ”

 

They glared at each other for a long minute.

 

Severus relented first, and said grudgingly, “Go on.”

 

**End of Chapter 11**

 


	13. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

 

Severus listened to the story of a dangerous, desperate journey that Albus Dumbledore had sent Potter and his friends on.

 

About the Deathly Hallows and the afterlife and how it ended—something that people would agree legends were made of; tempered by miracle and perseverance, by trust and courage, by love and sacrifice, a tale which sounded so much perfect, he _wanted_ to vomit.

 

Because in reality, one wrong decision taken by an unknown factor, might have resulted a different outcome, more terrible than anyone could ever imagine.

 

All because Albus Dumbledore couldn’t trust him enough to share the most crucial information.

 

Not for the reason that he wasn’t skilled enough to fool the Dark Lord, and despite the fact, he had been devoted to the cause, and spent all his life, sacrificing everything for it, and never gave the old headmaster any reason to doubt his loyalty.

 

It all came down to one thing.

 

Albus Dumbledore, for all his house unity non-sense, was a judgmental bastard.

 

It was this irrational belief:

 

He was a Slytherin so he must be ambitious. He was a Slytherin so he must be a liar. He was a Slytherin so he must not be trusted. He was a Slytherin so he wasn’t capable of resisting the temptation to take the most powerful wand in existence for himself.

 

How gullible he was, blinded by Albus’s vision of doing the right thing, nothing disgusted him more than to know that he had foolishly gone along with the flawed, imperfect plan without knowing its true consequence; that he had been in actuality posing an unnecessary risk to the one he loved.

 

And for that, he would never forgive Albus Dumbledore.

 

XxXxX

 

Although at first Harry was reluctant to share (yeah, only he, Ron, and Hermione knew the truth, and he’d like to keep it that way), when he began to narrate it, he realized that there was no one more deserving to be told of the whole story other than Snape—after all, who else who could have accomplished that kind of mad but bravest deed, telling a lie straight to the face of the most powerful dark wizard in the world and succeeded to trick him.

 

Besides, he didn’t even feel the need to swear him to secrecy because Snape was about as talkative as a clam; he wished good luck to anyone to pry anything out of him when _even_ the Dark Lord couldn’t.

 

Still, of all reaction he had anticipated from the Potion Master, getting booted and locked out of the room before he could say ‘snitch’ had left him dumbfounded.

 

Sure, in the middle of story-telling, Snape’s face had turned quite green, and then became deep red, almost purple at the end of it as if the man was furious at something or someone.

 

Though, he had a feeling that for once in his life that thunderous expression wasn’t aimed at him, so it left him supremely confused (and a bit offended) when he got rudely kicked out of the room.

 

But since he had already late to work, he decided against breaking down the door and demanded an explanation from Snape, so instead he left quietly.

 

When he arrived on the Ministry, he seriously thought his day couldn't get any worse.

 

As to be expected, Ron interrogated him as soon as he stepped into the Auror’s office.

 

“So how’s it going with the old bat?” asked Ron, not really saying the Potion Master’s name in case anyone overheard that.

 

Aware of the curious stare from his workfellows who were eavesdropping on the conversation, he plopped in the chair at his cubicle and said pointedly, “Don’t ask.”

 

Sniggering, Ron lowered his voice and said, “So, is he still an arse?”

 

His forehead scrunched, he leaned back in his chair, and really thought of Ron’s passing remark.

 

“No,” he said eventually, surprising even himself with the answer. “Not really. He’s….” _Impossible to guess? Prone to volatile mood change? Irritating as hell? Yes to all, but he's no longer the hateful teacher from his past._ “He’s not that bad…”

 

“Huh…” he exclaimed softly to no one, mildly shocked by the revelation.

 

Ron interrupted his train of thoughts with a loud snort. “Yeah, right!” said his redheaded fellow Auror with obvious disbelief. “Not believing one word here, mate. Once a git, forever a git.”

 

Harry just shrugged and said nothing.

 

He might have grown some tolerance towards Snape, even felt sorry for him, but to try to convince his friends that Snape wasn’t the man they all thought he was?

 

Nope. He’d have to love the man like a mother would, for an unconditional love like that.

 

“Oh, yeah, Dawlish ask for you in his office, mate,” Ron said as if it's just an afterthought.

 

When the news sunk in, he moved out of his chair so fast that his knees stumped hard against his desk. He hopped around on one foot and swore like a sailor, earning laughter from his fellow Aurors.

 

 “Say that sooner, won’t you?” he said, sending Ron a glare.

 

Ron just shrugged.

 

“Did he look angry?” he asked.

 

Ron smirked at him.

 

He sent his best mate a dark scowl.

 

“I’m screwed, aren’t I?” he said with a sigh.

 

“You bet!” replied Ron.

 

XxXxX

 

Later on, he understood the reason behind Ron’s amused look.

 

So yes, Dawlish was mad. His boss was pretty much incensed that he was forced to lend one of his best rookies to guard (translations: babysit) some French diplomat’s family (the same French diplomat he had, unfortunately, saved months ago, if getting a raging centaur back off was counted as saving) when their department was already very busy with the year end ‘Yule’ raid.

 

The gratitude was shown in the ‘French’ way, meaning, since he was single, he was being wooed as a candidate for political alliance through marriage. And he was supposed to be flattered as the daughter in question was a beautiful girl from old and rich wizarding family who supposedly was the perfect bride for the ‘Chosen One’.

 

Hence, why, much to his chagrin, he became the laughing stock of his fellow Aurors.

 

Thankfully, the Ministry couldn’t really force him to marry some stranger without his consent (duh, he’s of age), still, he was asked to play nice while the Diplomat’s family visited Britain.

 

So his days consisted of fending off the mother-daughter’s unwanted advance toward him and behaved coldly but politely, ultimately keeping a good distance so he wouldn’t be trapped into marrying the said daughter.

 

He couldn’t wait for Christmas to come even if it meant his freedom from the Diplomat’s family enslavement (that’s the day when the Ministry stopped dangling him like a meat on a hook).

 

In his spare time, that meant most of the time, as he stood guard, uselessly, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, he couldn’t help but wondering whether Snape was eating properly or not, whether the Potion Master was still as enraged as that time he expelled him from his hospital room.

 

Well that _, also_ , he was trying to spend his time as constructively as possible, (he’d have made Hermione proud of him), by practicing his non-verbal spell, while at the same time trying to invent a new spell which he hoped would be worthy enough to be used.

 

**End of Chapter 12**

 

 


	14. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RIP Alan Rickman, you'll be dearly missed

**Chapter 13**

 

Snape’s eyes were searching for something behind her. The intensity of his gaze almost made her turn her head around to see what or who the man had been looking for. Then half a second later, when Snape failed to find what he was seeking, he looked so crestfallen that it was almost comical.

 

Suddenly, she realized who Snape had been expecting to show up here with her.

 

_Harry!_

 

Amusement danced in her eyes, but she managed to keep her face straight.

 

Of course, it was Harry.

 

Who else could rouse such emotion in Snape?

 

Despite Ron and Harry’s fervent belief, she found that Snape wasn’t that awful. Yes, the man was prejudiced against Gryffindor or any other Houses other than his own. But with all the rivalry, she could understand it. After all, sometimes, she also got this blood-thirsty rage toward Slytherin.

 

But mostly, if she had to describe the Potion Master was that the man was aloof, his manner was icy indifference. One wouldn’t believe Snape was capable of such passion if the man didn’t hate Harry that much.

 

Well, now, she thought about it again, only Harry could make Snape so terribly angry. Even Neville, whom the Potion Master regarded with absolute horror, had never tempted the man to wring his neck, whereas Harry could invoke such reaction so easily, just for merely existing.

 

Though, over the last few days, Harry had told her that he and Snape were quickly becoming attached to each other, that both of them were, at some point, friendly. Ron had scoffed at the notion, but she had reserved judgment about it.

 

Sometimes, it’s nice to be wrong, and this was one of those moments.

 

“Miss Granger,” the man said with detached politeness, acknowledging her presence, his disappointment and any other emotions perfectly walled off behind an impenetrable barrier.

 

 “Professor,” she replied with a small smile.

 

XxXxX

 

Potter hadn’t come.

 

Or more precisely, Granger had said that Potter _couldn’t_ come.

 

She hadn’t provided the reason, and he couldn’t bring himself to ask.

 

The truth was that he had shown her more than he intended her to see.

 

He couldn't think of anything more mortifying. His prized self-control was in tatters, bare emotions had shown plainly on his face, obvious to anyone watching.

 

Because much to his dismay, there were two things he couldn’t handle well, no matter how hard he tried. First, it was Harry Potter, and the latter was disappointment, of which the former usually followed closely by the latter.

 

As for the reason why Potter didn’t visit him today, it crossed his mind that the boy might have felt offended because he had thrown him out of his room without any explanation, when it was him who had insisted on knowing the whole story.

 

But Granger had passed him the food package and the _Daily Prophet_ and said _: “Harry asked me to give you this, Professor.”_

 

That tiny gesture had showed that Potter hadn't taken his actions as a personal affront.

 

Then again, Potter might be many things, but the boy was neither mean nor spiteful.

 

If he was, Severus doubted he’d fall in love with him in the first place.

 

Depressed by reasons beyond his control, he picked up the newspaper to divert his growing discontentment.

 

On the front page of the December 19, 2002, in bold, capital letters, the _Daily Prophet_ announced: FREAK MARSHMALLOW BLIZZARDS HIT LONDON. It reported that the suspect of that crime has been taken into custody and the Aurors launched an investigation into the matter to determine the motive. The relatives of the suspect admitted that the said wizard was widely known as severely disturbed for some time.

 

Severus rolled his eyes heavenward in disgust.

 

For pity’s sake, he hadn’t risked his neck so this mad fool of a wizard could play prank on Muggles.

 

Unfolding the rest of the newspaper, he scanned critically for the rest of page one, which in his opinion was just as unimportant as the headline, before turning to the next page.

 

Of all sudden, an envelope popped out of the _Daily Prophet_ and landed straight to his lap.

 

He froze, staring at the offending, though quite innocent-looking item, which had appeared out of thin air.

 

Some mechanism had been triggered, likely keyed to his touch, perhaps by opening the next page of the newspaper. But he couldn’t decide without inspecting it further, whether it was dangerous or harmless.

 

Waving his wand, he made it floating in mid air. He tested it through the feasible list of curses with just one flick of his wrist, and then frowned when he found nothing.

 

Gingerly picked it up by using his thumb and index finger (to prove his theory that skin contact could have initiated the hidden magic), he put it as far as he could from his face and mentally cringed as he waited for the reaction that might have resulted from it.

 

The seconds were ticking away, but so far, it hadn’t exploded in his face, hadn’t oozed a torrent of nasty viscous substance which could melt his flesh and bone.   

 

Frowning deeper, he broke the red wax seal and opened the envelope, and then slowly pulled out its contents. A single, thin paper, which looked more like a note than a letter, was revealed. He straightened it from its folded state to read it.

 

The first words his eyes fell on brought an unflattering, red blotch to his cheeks.

 

  _‘Dear Snivellus’_ , it had said, which had made him blistering with anger.

 

What in Merlin’s name was this? A new form of harassment?

 

He scowled as he thought of the possible perpetrators who knew this derogatory nickname from his school days. He ought to burn it down, the whole thing until what was left was only burning cinders, but his curiosity got the better of him.

 

The next one was, _‘If you read this, then I can safely conclude my offering has appeased your anger’._

His eyebrow rose quizzically at the sentence.

 

Did it refer to the food or the newspaper? Furthermore, could any of it be categorized as such; _an offering_?

 

And to his knowledge, he hadn’t been angry at anyone in particular lately, at least no one who was still alive. Why did the writer of this letter assumed he would be?

 

Feeling confused, he suddenly felt the need to read the rest of it more quickly.

 

_‘I know this may sound like an excuse._

_But I can assure you, I’m not running away from anything, rather, duty calls._

_I got an assignment about ~~baby~~ , er, guarding some foreign diplomat’s family._

_A matter of national importance, you know.’_

 

Severus snorted at the underlined words.

 

Suddenly, the letter made more sense. He now knew who had written it. Potter, apparently, needed to explain that he had babysitting duties and didn’t want him to think that he hadn’t come today because he was afraid of him.

 

Shaking his head at the boy’s inane explanation, he felt the edge of his lips turned up as his mood improved.

 

It was right what they had said, misery did love company.

 

However, his mood soured again when he read the next sentence, _‘Can’t promise when I’ll be released from the job…’_

 

His heart heavy, he felt reluctant to read the next part as he had almost reached the last part of the letter.

 

_‘P.S.: Er, when it’s Ron’s turn to show up, please, don’t hex him._

_P.S.S.: I’m serious, please don’t.’_

 

He hovered between amused and annoyed, rankled by the obvious, grammar mistake Potter had written in his letter as it was supposed to be P.P.S., not P.S.S.

 

Grammar mistake aside, when he read the next line, an abrupt laugh escaped his mouth.

 

For Potter had ended it with the perfect silver lining:

_‘I am, Sir, your most humble and obedient servant,_

  _Evans.’_

 

**End of Chapter 13**


	15. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

“…you won’t believe the length I’ve gone to avoid her,” said Harry.

 

“Mental,” said Ron, shaking his head.

 

“Exactly,” said Harry with feelings, pleased that Ron agreed with him.

 

“No, I mean you’re mental, mate!” said Ron with disbelief. “Her dad is one ugly bastard, that’s for sure. But she’s hot, I’ve seen her picture! Why bloody not… _Oof_!”

 

Hermione’s well-delivered jab to Ron’s stomach stopped the redhead’s tirade.

 

“Hermione, that hurts!” complained Ron to his girlfriend, rubbing his abused stomach.

 

At her glare, Ron realized his mistake. “Eh, no… I mean she’s not as hot as you…” said his red-haired friend, buttering up his girlfriend with a meaningful glance. “You’re hotter… oh, yeah, definitely _hotter_ …”

 

Harry made a noise at the back of his throat. “Haven’t just heard that…” he muttered loud enough to be heard.

 

It was uncomfortable enough being the third-wheel. He didn’t need to know about his friends’ sex life too, thank you.

 

The couple blushed and looked positively embarrassed.

 

Hermione was the first one to recover. Clearing her throat, she said, “Oh, Harry, you can always come with us…”

 

He looked at Ron with a raised eyebrow.  His friend had promised to get him out of tight spot. It meant helping him convince his significant one that he wouldn’t be joining his family for Christmas.

 

Ron just shrugged.

 

“ _Arse…_ ” he said under his breath, rolling his eyes, so much for real men’s code of honor.

 

Knew he wouldn’t get any help from Ron, Harry said, “Nope. I’m sorry, Hermione. But, I’m not going…”

 

Normally, at this time, he would be spending Christmas at the Weasleys.

 

But this year was different.

 

He had _every_ reason not to spend it with them.

 

“I’m good,” he said with a smile when she sent him pitying look. “Don’t worry about me. Listen, I’ve got your eggnog. I’m sure I’ll be knocked out till New Year or so…”

 

Ron sniggered at the mention of his girlfriend’s homemade eggnog. It was special, she had doused it with enough alcohol to drown every bacteria. The smell wafting from it alone guaranteed that you’d get drunk at the second glass.

 

Hermione blushed again and delivered a mock-punch in the shoulder.  “Oh _, you_ … It’s just the usual eggnog…” she muttered.

 

His smile widened. “If you say so…”

 

Hermione shook her head, smiling, exasperated at him.

 

After a moment or two, she asked him, “Harry, are you really sure…?”

 

“Yes, I’m really, _really_ sure, Hermione,” he said firmly.

 

When she still hesitated, he gave her a quick hug.

 

“Go on, have fun,” he said with a smile. “I’ll be just OK. You know what I’ve planned to do for today. I’m not going to mope around at Christmas, I promise...”

 

At this cue, Ron said, offering his hand to Hermione, “Shall we…?”

 

Hermione took the offered hand and smiled. “Bye, Harry.”

 

“Bye, Hermione,” he said. “Give my regards to your family, Ron,”

 

Ron promised, “Yeah, I will, mate…”

 

And then, he watched with no small envy as his best friends, hand in hand, _apparated_ away.

 

Wishing more than anything, one day he’d find love like the one they had.

 

XxXxX

 

Being cooped up in his room all day with _absolutely_ nothing to do was more than Severus’s intellectual mind could handle.

 

Before today, he could trust the grueling Muggle’s Physical Therapy to divert his mind from his partial disability anxiety, _(or if he was honest, to keep himself from missing Potter)_.

 

Though, much to his displeasure, as today was Christmas, any activity that had nothing to do with the holiday was put on hold, which was why he was trapped in his room all alone with his thoughts that were steadily getting darker and darker as seconds passed.

 

The foremost thought that occupied his mind was about the blasted boy’s chosen job.

 

Without even trying, Potter had _always_ attracted trouble like a magnet.

 

And one would have thought that a lifetime getting chased and maimed by dark wizards would be enough, but no, Potter just had to choose one profession that would place him _literally_ in the line of fire for indefinite time!

 

It was a joke, a _cruel_ joke that he should live to see through this.

 

Severus didn’t have to be a seer to predict the outcome of this ridiculous course, either Potter succeeded getting himself killed before his 30th birthday, or in the future, the boy came out unhinged like "Mad-Eye" Moody.

 

Suddenly, Severus felt stifled and surrounded and couldn’t bear another minute in this perfect white room.

 

XxXxX

 

Several minutes later, away from his room _, supposedly_ , if he had been thinking rationally, he should have turned back and given up when facing the stairs as there was no elevator in this small hospital.

 

Instead, he ignored the small voice in his head that had been screaming, _‘don’t do it!’_ and went for the stairs.

 

And there at the very bottom of it, was where his foolish attempt to run away from his own feelings ended.

 

Another pathetic blunder he’d ever made in his life.

 

He sat down on the stairs, legs shaking, and scowled like a petulant child.

 

He could have _apparated_ out of his room easily and back before anyone knew it, but stupidly, he had to do it the Muggle way, even worse, he had left his wand under his pillow.

 

 And now… he knew he should yell for help, but his pride wouldn’t let him.

 

Stubbornly, he crossed his arms and scowled harder.

 

An hour or so, _(he wasn’t sure exactly how long he had been sitting there),_ a voice called out to him.

 

“Need a hand?”

 

He looked up and met those laughing green eyes and _(inwardly)_ made a tiny groan.

 

**End of Chapter 14**

 

 

 


	16. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update, it's semi-hiatus from now on, I'll write when I have time

**Chapter 15**

_What is this?_

His heart was racing and anxiety churned his stomach.

 

Desire he had never felt before was sending fire flaming through his blood, rousing a part of him that had been in slumber for more than forty years.

 

Severus loved Harry Potter as much as he had loved Lily Evans—others would, perhaps, judged him to be obsessed with both.

 

But he hadn’t, however, been attracted sexually to either of them.

 

His love was pure in its nature, untainted by ugly desire that everyone else seemed to have.

 

Unlike other males who developed a fascination toward woman’s breast, or like some, had come to appreciate the sculpted limbs of men, his nature had always been asexual.

 

He was capable of love, but had zero interest about the sexual act itself.

 

Yet, today, this belief, the core foundation of his life was being uprooted simply because he had felt lust towards Harry Potter—just because of the warm, helping hand that was being offered to him, just because the press of another’s bare skin against his own.

 

The realization both excited and terrified him.

 

_Why this, why now?_

XxXxX

 

Harry had felt amused when he found the Potion Master sitting on the stairs, looking frustrated and angry. Snape had looked like he was going to blow a fuse or most likely bite someone’s head off; in this case, _his_ , when he had offered to help him back to his room.

 

Though, in the end, Snape had decided to accept his help, albeit grudgingly, judging from the fact that his face went a funny colour, sort of puce-like that reminded him very much of Vernon Dursley.

 

Yet, when they did reach the room, Snape had this puzzling look that made him itch to ask what had made the Potion Master look so troubled.

 

 But he kept his silence because he wasn’t sure whether he had been forgiven for his ‘sins’ (although what his sins consist of was still a mystery, except if Snape was in the mood to explain things to him, which almost never happened throughout their history together).

 

_Why is it always my fault?_

 

It was unfair, really.

 

He scowled at himself.

 

“Potter,” Snape said coldly.

 

He looked up.

 

“Yes, Professor?”

 

“What are you doing here?” The question was said with a hint of irritation.

 

_Saving your sorry arse._

 

Of course, he didn’t voice that thought. He still valued his life.

 

“I’m here to apologize…” he began.

 

Snape frowned at him, looking confused. “You are here to—?”

 

“You’ve thrown me out of your room, remember?” he said, reminding Snape what had happened before he went on the assignment from the Ministry.

 

He saw Snape’s lips thinned in distaste. “Potter, it’s not something you—” The words were spoken angrily, but he could detect guilt in those black eyes.

 

“You didn’t know,” he said suddenly, his eyes widened as realization dawning. “You didn’t know what Dumbledore had been planning… He didn’t tell you any of it, did he?”

 

XxXxX

 

“Potter…” he said tiredly.

 

“Dumbledore. It must have irritated you that he underestimated your love for my mother,” Potter mused aloud. “Well, he’s wrong about that, wasn’t he?”

 

“Potter,” he growled.

 

“Was I mistaken…?” said Potter, his eyes searching his own.

 

“For Merlin’s sake, just shut up,” he said, his expression thunderous.

 

“OK,” said Potter quietly.

 

Damn Potter and his uncanny instinct! Damn him for being so persistent!

 

“Why are you here?” he snapped, his lower body part, which was thankfully hidden by the blanket, was in a very uncomfortable state, the sooner Potter leave, the better.

 

Potter tilted his head. "Do you want to know the truth or a watered down version?"

 

Severus frowned at the boy’s answer. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear that Potter came here only because of pity. Although much to his relief, it made the erect part of him withered away.

 

Before he could say anything, Potter said with a wry smile, “I’d better tell you the truth, don’t want you to call me a liar, on top of thief.” Looking straight at him, the boy went on, “I come here, because tonight is Christmas Eve, and I… I don’t want to be alone on Christmas Eve.”

 

Severus took a sharp breath at hearing that. Potter had sounded so sad and lonely in one sentence.

 

Yet…

 

“Impossible.” He scoffed, went on denial. “Weasley’s brood must have invited—”

 

“Invited me? Yes, they have,” interrupted Potter. “Though, it’s an invitation I shouldn’t accept…”

 

“How could that be?” he demanded, confused.

 

Sighing, Potter slowly replied, “Ginny… she is getting engaged today.”

 

 His frown deepened. He was becoming more confused by the direction of this talk.

 

“Then why are you not there now? If she is getting engaged…”

 

Potter released an abrupt laugh at this. “Not to me, Professor. She’s getting engaged, but _not_ to me.”

 

Potter’s mouth curved, amused, when he just stared blankly at him, not comprehending.

 

“She and I, _er_ , broke up years ago,” added Potter. “It’s ancient news. I forgot you didn’t know…”

 

Severus was shocked, though he didn’t allow this to break through his cold façade. He had initially thought that Potter had married the Weasley chit, despite the lack of evidence on Potter’s finger.

 

“Even if I wasn’t in a coma, why would _I_ follow the news about your love life, Potter?” he replied sarcastically, once he managed to regain his composure.

 

“Ouch, that hurts,” said Potter mockingly.

 

Severus rolled his eyes heavenward at Potter’s exaggerated gesture.

 

“So yeah, it’ll be awkward to attend it,” admitted Potter sheepishly.

 

“And you thought it’s not awkward to spend Christmas Eve with your old Professor?” he remarked dryly.

 

“ _Less_ awkward,” replied Potter impertinently. Then at seeing his bemused face, the boy laughed. “OK, joking. I’d rather be here than anywhere else. I’ve been missing you, Professor. Have you been missing me?”

 

His heart stopped at hearing Potter’s innocent admission.

 

_I’ve been missing you._

 

 Severus felt the urge to pinch himself to see if he was awake, for this surely a dream.

 

Instead, he snorted and said, “No.”

 

“Double ouch,” said Potter, laughing.

 

Severus held back the smile that threatened to take over his face.

 

**End of Chapter 15**


	17. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

 

The relatively mild weather had taken a worse turn, later that evening.

 

Wind and snow were roaring furiously, promising a sure death to anyone who was stupid enough to brave the elements.

 

Occasionally, the window rattled like it was going to break under the pressure. Inside, the light from the heating stove – hospital’s emergency measures after the electricity went out – was casting strange, sinister shadows that danced along the wall as if it was the embodiment of the living beasts of darkness.

 

The notion _was_ , of course, rather far-fetched.

 

Not only because the two men who occupied the room were too old to believe about the imaginary monsters under the bed, but rather due to the fact that even if there was one monster _or_ a horde of it, really, these two could take care of it easily. For both of them had more magic in their little finger than any ordinary Muggle could dream of.

 

“Are you sure you want to do that, Potter?” A voice smooth as silk broke the silence.

 

The one who was called Potter, obviously the younger of the two, looked up from the board with a frown. “Come again?” he asked.

 

“If you make that move, Potter,” the older one paused briefly, “though, I assure you, it’ll be the greatest pleasure if you did…” And then with a glimpse of infuriating smirk on his face, went on, “you’ll surely lose.”

 

Color stained the younger fellow’s cheekbones at hearing that.

 

XxXxX

 

“Wasn’t mind-reading against the rules?” Potter demanded with a bemused expression.

 

Severus snorted. “Potter, have your learnt nothing? Should I remind you that the mind is _not_ a book, to be opened at will and examined at leisure?” He said. “The mind is a complex and many-layered thing, Potter - _or at least_ …” He paused, flicking his gaze back at the boy. “…most minds are.”

 

“Wow,” Potter said, his tone dry as sand. “You sure know how to make a guy feel special.”

 

Severus smirked.

 

“Speaking of chess…” Potter eyed him closely. “You and Ron should hang out together, you know. You two would hit it off in no time,” The boy replied smugly, smirking back at him.

 

XxXxX

 

_Ding, ding, ding! We have a winner here!_

 

He thought as he saw the look of pure horror on Snape’s face.

 

Ok, fine, he _lied_. So far, the score was even.

 

But in a battle of wits, every winning should count for something, right?

 

It was a dirty game—yeah, it is _fairly_ dirty ( _i.e_. all’s fair in love and war, yes?), though, he’d assure anyone who would have bothered to listen that it was _mostly_ harmless (seriously, it’s Snape we’re talking here) because the point of the wager was, on whose emotions would explode first.

 

And he was proud to say that he was holding his own quite well.

 

“Merlin save me from fools,” Snape muttered.

 

Stifling his laugh, he spoke in a singsong voice, “Never say never, Professor,” his eyes twinkling mischievously.

 

Honest. If looks could kill, he'd be a dead man twice over.

 

XxXxX

 

Severus would never admit it to anyone but he had enjoyed the evening more than he thought he would.

 

Potter was being charming, _unreasonably_ charming.

 

And that was the starting point of his downfall.

 

Should Potter sweetly say _, “Please?”_ He would gladly fetch the sun, the moon, and the stars above for him.

 

Of course, he was just being ridiculous about it.

 

Potter might not mean anything special about bestowing such attention to him as it was probably Potter’s original demeanor to be sweet (and _irritatingly_ playful) to his friends and acquaintances alike. But it was the first time Potter to look at him like that; like his presence was wanted, even valued.

 

He couldn’t help but wanting it to last, _perhaps_ if it was possible, forever.

 

However, wishing was best left to the fools, and he was no fool.

 

Although, the thing about life was that it took too much and gave him too little.

 

So if he was given this one chance, why should he let it slip away?

 

Tomorrow would still come, but today… _today,_ Potter was all his.

 

XxXxX

 

“What she’s like?” he asked, making Snape shift his focus from the chess board.

 

As Snape looked at him questioningly, he knew almost immediately he probably should take back his words before the damage was properly done, but curiosity got the better of him. To tell the truth, he had been wondering about it since he had seen the bits and pieces in Snape’s memory.

 

The vague answer he got from Dumbledore didn’t help at all.

 

He knew that once his mother and Snape had been childhood and best of friends, but there was too little in Snape’s memory about his mother to know what kind of a person his mother was.

 

Seeking an answer from someone who knew his mother best, seemed to be the most logical thing to do.

 

So he cleared his throat and pressed on.  “My mother… what she’s like?”

 

Snape blanched as if he’d slapped him, his face was drained of color.

 

Suddenly, Harry had a sinking feeling that he was making a big mistake.

 

It had been ages since his mother had died. One would have thought Snape had time to get over it.

 

Merlin knew, he had, but it seemed that Snape still hadn’t.

 

And in his haste, he forgot that Snape wasn’t like Sirius or Remus who would humor him with his questions and give him assurance when he had doubts—Snape was just a man who was forced by circumstances to interact with him; nothing more, nothing less.

 

That he expected Snape to behave the same way Sirius and Remus had been, was probably the stupidest thing he’d ever done.

 

“Sorry,” he blurted out, ashamed of being too forward, overstepping his bounds. He had conveniently grouped Snape in the same category as his father’s best friends. “I hadn’t been thinking… I…” His voice wobbled. “Sorry…”

 

After what seemed to be forever, Snape opened his mouth. “Exactly.”

 

He blinked. “Excuse me?”

 

“You are an idiot.”

 

“Er…” What should he reply to that?

 

Yes, he was? No, he wasn’t?

 

“Potter, I’m going to say this only once...” Snape’s black eyes glittered with powerful emotions he couldn’t hope to understand. “Don’t you dare to doubt her; _Lily,_ your mother, had the kindest of hearts. She was the truest friend anyone could possibly have—,” then with a wistful look, Snape continued quietly, “—and for me, she was the only one.”

 

Harry frowned.

 

Snape’s assurance about his mother’s character should make him happy. But instead, he felt kind of sad.

 

Snape had said that she was his friend, his _only_ friend.

 

He was sure that Snape wasn’t trying to garner pity from him when he said it, only stating the obvious fact which… in a sense, made it even sadder.

 

He really didn’t envy Snape.

 

It had sounded more like a curse than a gift to feel that way towards anyone.

 

He opened his mouth then closed it again, thinking hard the right thing to say to repair this unsalvageable situation. Yet, his mind came up blank.

 

Fortunately, he was saved, from having to say anything, by the bells.

 

XxXxX

 

Severus could hear the bells tolling and realized with a start that it was already midnight.

 

He had totally lost track of time.

 

Beside him, Potter had whipped his head around to stare out the window with something akin to wonder on his face. “Holy…” Potter’s bespectacled eyes widened and his mouth flew open, looking as surprised as he was. “It’s Christmas already…”

 

“Er…” Potter turned back to face him. The boy said sheepishly, “Well… Happy Christmas, Professor.”

 

Any scathing reply he might have, evaporated.

 

“Happy Christmas, Potter,” he said quietly.

 

Then, with a long sigh, Potter uttered the first sentence of his doom. “I hate to say this… I know we haven’t even finished the game, Professor…”

 

Severus could predict with certainty what would come next. He felt a pang of loss, already.

 

“But I’ve, er, I’ve an early shift, so…” Potter’s voice trailed off.

 

_So Potter had to go home._

 

He didn’t know why it bothered him so much, even more than when Potter had asked him about Lily.

 

He knew reality would eventually intrude and every Christmas would come to an end.

 

But here he was, he thought ruefully, being reminded again, that there was a vast distinction between knowing and accepting. 

 

Careful to keep his expression deceptively bland, he magically tidied up the Muggle chess board with his wand.

 

“Thanks,” said Potter, picking up the chess board which had been borrowed from the hospital’s recreational room.

 

He remained silent.

 

Slowly, Potter got up from his chair.

 

Severus forced himself to glance away, his chest was heavy. He didn’t want to get caught mooning after Potter like a lovesick schoolgirl. One confession in a day was already too much.

 

Unexpectedly, Potter called out to him. “Professor.”

 

He didn’t reply, wishing Potter wouldn’t torture him like this and would just leave.

 

“You’re wrong about one thing, you know…”

 

He tensed. Was Potter trying to pick a fight?

 

“She’s _not_ your only friend.”

 

His eyebrows flew up in surprise.

 

Before he could ask, Potter had walked away, leaving behind those enigmatic parting words to ponder.

 

**End of Chapter 16**

 

 


	18. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

 

In the last forty years alone, Severus could claim he had witnessed all there ever was to life – both terrible and miraculous – and thought nothing would surprise him anymore.

 

Though that night, he was forced to amend his opinion about it.

 

He _had_ – he couldn’t think of a better word to describe it – _gaped_ (quite unsightly look to have on him, he was sure) when Potter had uttered the statement that, while astonishing and unbelievable as it was, had no chance to be interpreted wrongly.

 

Because it had never crossed his mind, not even a little, that there could be any relation between them, anything but as former teacher-student, nemesis, or _sometimes_ allies, as they had nothing in common, and as different as night and day, and nothing— _nothing_ whatsoever reason to think otherwise, except for the fact that Harry Potter could make him happy just simply by talking or smiling at him.

 

Love as he knew, tend to have that kind of nauseous effect on anyone, and unfortunately, no matter how much he struggled, he wouldn’t be the first one to be exempted from it.

 

But to think that the other party would actually _want him_ as a friend; overwhelmed him in a way nothing else could.

 

He hadn’t so much shed a tear since Lily had died, but today his eyes were burning, and it took every ounce of his will to control his emotions, to not let it fall.

 

 _Potter didn’t mean it,_ he tried to tell himself. _He only said it on a whim._

 

He’d be a fool to believe it, leaving himself wide open for immense pain later.

 

But he was only a human and hope… _hope_ was such a wild, uncontrolled thing; it flickered from nothingness into something tangible in a mere leap of faith, yet he also knew that it could burn him quicker and nastier than a flame could do to moths.

 

There couldn’t be a price in existence higher than that, still, he couldn’t convince himself, that he should just forget, that he shouldn’t trust.

 

XxXxX

 

And so days later, Severus paid dearly for it; he suffered, his heart embittered because more than anything, just for once, he really wanted to believe it, to believe that Potter, even just a little _, cared_.

 

He _was_ an idiot.

 

As usual, Harry- _sainted_ -Potter was above all reproach.

 

Should Potter choose _not_ to show up again in front of him for an eternity after dropping such bold statement, then it was Potter’s right to do so.

 

However, it was also his right – a pathetic creature he was – to wallow in self-pity and self-hatred.

 

Love had always blinded him and stripped him off his logic, sanity, and pride.

 

So how could he be so naïve, so trusting, even so much to give it the benefit of the doubt, when it had given him nothing in return _but_ humiliation and pain?

 

**End of Chapter 17**

 

A/N: Full-blown angst. Sorry, I’ll try to make the next one longer.


	19. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

 

Chasing suspect in a bitterly cold morning like this hadn’t dimmed even one bit of his good mood.

 

Despite the burning pain in his legs and the uncomfortable pressure in his chest from inhaling too much of icy air as he dashed through the alley, he just couldn’t stop grinning.

 

He would admit freely that last night was the most interesting night he’d ever had in months (yeah, don’t get him wrong, he did love Ron and Hermione, and they would always be his best friends, _but_ … three’s a crowd and all).

 

He had sorely missed the so-called male bonding with Ron over drinks which happened rarely nowadays since the two had started going out officially.  

 

And last night, he had it with Snape. There had been laughter and bickering, witty conversations without belittling anyone ( _well_ … anyone other than themselves), had gone through both awkward and comfortable silence, and most importantly no one would mind if they spend hours secluding themselves in the proverbial man cave.

 

If anyone told him that one day he would enjoy having a friendship with Snape, he would have referred the said person to the St. Mungo’s mental ward.

 

And honestly, who’d have ever thought the dour Potion Master would be fun to hang out with?

 

A stray hex snapped him out of his thought.

 

He barely had time to duck.

 

It sailed over his head, then ricocheted and hit the stack of empty barrels a few feet on the wall in front of him, sending it tumbling down.

 

Without slowing down, he vaulted over the obstacle easily.

 

 _“OI, JUST GIVE UP!”_ he shouted indignantly to the suspect, pretty much annoyed with himself for losing focus when doing his job.

 

If the man had heard him, then he showed no sign of stopping.

 

The chase went on and on through the alley until both of them finally reached a straight line.

 

It was then when he stopped and carefully aimed his wand. With a swift move, he shot a full body bind to the suspect. And unlike the suspect’s desperate attempt, his spell reached his target perfectly.

 

In the blink of an eye, the other man crumpled to the ground, unable to move.

 

Still breathing hard, he went over and seized the suspect’s wand, and then just like the Auror’s usual procedure demanded, secured the man with the thin, snake-cords that burst from the end of his wand and twisted themselves around the suspect’s mouth, wrists, and ankles, and then… he waited.

 

Though not for long, as a minute or two later, his team caught up.

 

“You got… him?” Ron called out breathlessly.

 

Turning around, he presented the trussed up suspect with a slight bow.

 

His red headed best friend muttered a foul curse under his breath.

 

“My dear Won Won, such language… if your mum heard it…” he trailed off.

 

“Yeah, well, she isn’t here, is she?” his best friend said with a scowl. “And don’t call me that!”

 

“Yeah, sure… pay up!” he said, holding his hand out with a huge grin.

 

With a grumble, Ron slapped a sickle – their private wager on who would catch the suspect first – to his outstretched hand.

 

With mischievous grin, he flipped the sickle high in the air and caught it with practiced ease, making Ron scowled harder.

 

Then tilting his head, he cast a critical eye over his best friend. “Hermione has a point, you know…,” he said, his eyes fixed on the slight bulge on Ron’s waistline. “Shouldn’t you try to lose a few pounds?”

 

“Oh, shut up!” Ron growled.

 

Smothering his snigger, he pocketed the coin.

 

That had been a sore spot for Ron as when the redhead had stopped expanding vertically, he started to expand horizontally. And given Ron’s obsessive love affair with foods, obviously, any attempt of dieting was failing, badly.

 

He felt sorry for him, but in the same time, he found it hilarious.

 

This time a snigger finally escaped his mouth.

 

Before Ron could slug him, the captain called out to them, interrupting their honest day-to-day ribbing, “Boys,” the captain said with a grave face. “We’ve been asked to pull back. I’ve got a word from higher authority there was a suicide bombing at the Ministry just ten minutes ago…”

 

He saw the look of confusion on Ron’s face, instead of concern. And he had a right to it. A suicide bombing wasn’t a common term in magical world, for it spoke about Muggle’s act of terrorism.

 

Though, if that word was being associated to the Ministry, it couldn’t be a good thing, could it?

 

And he was right about it, because their captain next words were, “…there are casualties.”

 

XxXxX

 

Days later, the panic over what the Daily Prophet dubbed as the second Dorcus incident, still hadn’t receded, because despite the fact that no one had actually died in that devastating incident, many had been hurt—mostly, the Ministry’s staffs. They were unfortunate enough to be caught up in the explosion while preparing for the Christmas charity event later that day.

 

After that incident, the number of Muggle-hating crimes had gone through the roof. The Wizarding world’s radical anti-Muggle movement which bent on eradication of Muggles was gaining more and more support each day.

 

Even the Aurors force hadn’t been spared from the conflict, and some even pulled mutiny acts when was ordered to protect Muggles from their fellow wizards’ attack.

 

Admittedly, who could stay impartial about the whole thing when facing the real threat to their very existence, to their family and loved ones?

 

A single Muggle had passed through the charm that supposed to turn them away and struck terror right into the very heart of the Wizarding world.

 

Now, the question was if one Muggle could walk through the boundaries so easily, what would stop the rest of their kind from doing more terrible things next time?

 

Still, (he was a bit thankful, even though he was still troubled about it), his presence somehow served as brake, and prevented the situation to fully develop into a full-blown war, which if they really did go to war, they would eventually lose as Muggles outnumbered them, thousands to one—a fact that had been woefully ignored by most.

 

So, he let the Ministry crudely milked his fame as ‘the Savior’. He didn’t even uttered a single word of complaint and let them paint him as a ridiculous superhero character; last he heard from Hermione that the newspaper made him sound like a cross-over between Rambo and Die-hard protagonist.  

 

Grudgingly, he accepted this new role as _the_ mascot.  

 

Unfortunately, soon, he learnt that his fame alone wasn’t enough in the face of adversity, this big.

 

With the investigation coming to a dead end—no one could explain how _or_ why the dead bomber had done it – the older generation started to complain that he looked too young, too inexperienced ( _Inexperienced? Ha! They could bloody try having a mad wizard who kept trying to do them in for seven bloody years!_ )

 

In their eyes, he was plainly undependable because of his age.

 

It was the end of week two after the bombing when Kingsley proposed a plan, the most dreadful plan he’d ever heard in his life.

 

“Excuse me… _have you lost_ _your bloody mind_?” he blurted out, far too surprised to be polite. Before Kingsley could say anything, he said quickly, “There is no way he’d agree to this!”

 

 “Harry… Potter, if there is any other way, I wouldn’t ask you of this,” the Minister said, finality in his voice.

 

 “No,” he said, stuck his chin up stubbornly. “You can’t make me do this. Not a chance.”

 

Kingsley was silent for a while before replying, “Then… I will do what I have to do.”

 

“What do you mean?” He suddenly frowned. “Are you saying if he does not comply, you’re going to _use_ _force_?” he said, his voice rising in simulated disbelief and scorn.

 

“Everything is for… the greater good,” said Kingsley somberly.

 

“ _For_ —?” He gaped and then said with outrage, “To hell with that!”

 

He wasn’t so disillusioned to believe that the governing body he worked for wouldn’t resort to dirty tricks. But this… _this_ was a new low, even for Kingsley, or maybe because it’s Kingsley; because once they were comrades who had fought for the same cause.

 

And one shouldn’t throw other to the wolves, just because they were justified to do it.

 

Furious, he said, “You, the Ministry, were all too happy to let him rot in Azkaban!” to remind Kingsley about what had happened many months ago.

 

As a person of the highest authority, Kingsley couldn’t be caught in league with a known murderer; even though Dumbledore’s death was clearly planned by Dumbledore himself. Snape’s pardon had been the result of the members of Dumbledore’s Army efforts to garner public’s sympathy, rather than the so-called ‘ _the Ministry’s insight_ ’—as it would be the height of unfairness, if after everything Snape had done for them, the man would end up in Azkaban.

 

“He doesn’t owe you anything!” he said hotly. “Well, you know what? You can take your plan and shove it up your bloody—!”

 

“Enough!” Kinsley cut off his tirade with a stern look. “ _Please_ , remember yourself, Auror Potter!”

 

He closed his mouth, chest burning with impotent anger, but in the end, he managed to find his manners.

 

“Apologize, Minister,” he said coolly while in truth he was more than just ticked off by Kingsley’s one-sided decision.

 

“So do I, Harry Potter,” said Kingsley a moment later, even though both of them knew they didn’t really mean it.

 

He realized just then that this wasn’t a discussion, not really.

 

This was evidently a clever trap meant for him because Kingsley knew him very well by now; the older wizard knew if he was given time, he would never agree to it, that he’d plot to thwart it.

 

Therefore, he’d only been told about this plan at the same time the Ministry’s spokesperson had leaked the news of Snape’s recovery to the public.

 

The irony of that he had just been stabbed in the back by the office he trusted left a bitter taste in his mouth.

 

“I’ll do it,” he said after a long silence, rising from his chair to stare down icily at Kingsley. “But not for you, not for the Ministry, not even…” He paused, his lips twisted in a mirthless smile, “…for the greater good. But because he deserves to at least hear an explanation from a friend, and not from strangers demanding favors.”

 

**End of Chapter 18**

**A/N: if interested, you can find the story about Dorcus Twelvetrees at Rappaport's Law By J.K. Rowling.**


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